


Full Moon

by Roselightfairy



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Cuddling, Dale - Freeform, Erebor, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hand-waving distances, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mirkwood, Politics, Pre-War Tension, Prequel to another fic, Secret Relationship, Sharing a Bed, Voluntelling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:54:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26241466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roselightfairy/pseuds/Roselightfairy
Summary: Set in the same secret-relationship universe asWords Unspoken.  In the North, Erebor, Mirkwood, and Dale navigate a tense pre-war environment while Legolas and Gimli struggle to balance their own political positions with a relationship they don’t dare talk about.  They meet every month at the full moon, holding one another close as the world darkens around them.
Relationships: Gimli (Son of Glóin)/Legolas Greenleaf
Comments: 16
Kudos: 75





	Full Moon

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Words Unspoken](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18464311) by [Roselightfairy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roselightfairy/pseuds/Roselightfairy). 



> I rec [this fic](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/8529570/1/Horatio-s-Philosophy) to anyone and everyone, because I love and adore it – but something that this fic (and the author who wrote it, in this and other stories) does so very wonderfully is portray the dark and delicate balance of pre-war in the North, and the uneasy but absolutely crucial alliance between Erebor, Mirkwood, and Dale. It’s a dynamic I’m obsessed with, and there’s a bit in the fic that I love where Erebor gets word of the attack on Mirkwood – the one that leads to Gollum’s escape, though the dwarves don’t know that context. And because I’m obsessed with this idea and that fic, I couldn’t help incorporating that just a bit into [Words Unspoken](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18464311), my secret-relationship fic from a year ago.
> 
> But it turns out, one fic wasn’t quite enough for me. So I decided to write a prequel to that story with the main idea being: what would it be like to be in a secret relationship with someone from one of your allied kingdoms against the above backdrop? _Especially_ when you’re both in very high political positions and don’t know how much you can share? I would recommend reading _Words Unspoken_ before reading this story, although this takes place chronologically earlier, just because the other one was written earlier and I think that creates the necessary context for this one. I think there are a couple details that don’t quite match up, but I do hope that for the most part the two stories can be read well as a pair.
> 
> (Also, please just ignore the conveniently short amount of time that it takes people to travel places in this. I know it’s unrealistic (whatever that means in fanfic context), but . . . I do what I want.)

There were times that Gimli wished arranging to meet his secret lover were as simple as slipping away at night: tiptoeing out of his apartments in his parents’ manor and hurrying off down the hall, his only concern being silent enough to escape notice. Two halls away, three – even all across the mountain would be easier than leaving the kingdom entirely, making the excuse of a favored inn in Dale as he did every month. He had received more than one suspicious glance, and would not be surprised if his friends and family had come to guess far more than what he said.

But they surely would not guess that he did not stop at Dale. That he rented the room for safety’s sake and then continued on, toward the boundary of the forest where the kingdom of Mirkwood resided.

There were times he wished it were easier – not only for the sake of ease, but because his liaisons might be more frequent, might have the chance of occurring in daylight rather than during the full moon, as was their custom.

But then, if his partner did live in Erebor –

“Hello,” came a voice behind him, nearly startling him out of his armor, but before he could even jump he was engulfed from behind in long, strong elf-arms.

– he would not have _this_.

“Well met by moonlight, my friend,” he laughed, turning around in Legolas’s embrace and tilting his head up for a kiss. “I had begun to worry you would not arrive.”

“Mmm.” Legolas’s mouth was warm, his hair smooth between Gimli’s fingers. “You doubted me?” he said when he pulled back, lips still just barely brushing Gimli’s own, curved in a smiling pout. “I am offended.”

Gimli chuckled and pulled him in for another kiss, cupping his hands at the back of the elf’s neck to keep his face close. “Are you?” he murmured between kisses. “Allow me to offer my sincerest apologies. How can I ever make it up to you?”

“Hmm?” Legolas laughed against his mouth. “Well, if you ask – I believe I can think of a way . . .”

The night was chilled, but Legolas’s arms were warm and his mouth soft, and he hummed slightly even as they kissed, as though singing along to some melody Gimli could not hear.

They might only have this night, but in moments like this, it was all worth it.

* * *

They met, always, on the night of the full moon.

It was bright tonight – its light filtered through the thick canopy overhead as Legolas swung his silent way through the forest. It was still safest to travel through the treetops than on the ground; here the spiders were the only threat, and those he could hear from a distance. Anyway, he could move faster this way, and without leaving a trail.

This was the safest time to be alone at night in Mirkwood, and thus was the only night each month that Legolas could slip away on his own. He dared not vanish for any longer than a single night – they had learned _that_ lesson the hard way early on – but neither would he risk Gimli’s safety alone in the woods at any time.

So they met at the edge of the forest for one night every month, when they could manage it – a night Legolas had come to crave and dread in equal measure.

He could feel it already, the yearning suffusing his body, quickening his heart. He could not let it make him careless in his journey – even now he could feel the temptation to sacrifice stealth and caution for speed, but he reminded himself fiercely that if he were caught by spiders it would delay his arrival still further. But still, with every leap from one tree to the next it grew stronger, a mess of moth wings in his belly. He was only moments away from Gimli, he knew it!

. . . And hours away from their parting again.

The anticipation grew only stronger with the waxing of the moon, but he knew that after tonight it would be yet another month, the longest wait, until their next visit. Another month of duties, of leading his patrols and taking his shift guarding their prisoner and dodging his father’s questions about why he looked so out of sorts, another month of praying that Gimli would not surreptitiously send him word that he could not be present at the next full moon.

It was reason enough to dread, but – and the light of the moon grew stronger as the canopy dwindled, as the trees grew sparser and slimmer and Legolas was forced to leap farther to stay above ground – but in these moments it was all worth it.

A dwarf was standing just outside the tree-line, in the scrubby undergrowth that (rather unimpressively) marked the official boundary of Dale. He shifted from foot to foot, one hand on the haft of his axe, and his face was difficult to make out in the dark, but Legolas could see the reflection of the full moon in the gleam of his eyes.

“Gimli,” he breathed, and he dropped to the ground.

Gimli spotted him as soon as he reached the tree-line – Legolas could see his shoulders relaxing, his stance softening – relief suffusing every line of his body. Gimli opened his arms, and Legolas rushed into them.

Gimli was warm and solid against him, his embrace firm but not tight. He pressed his face into Legolas’s shoulder, and Legolas buried his own in Gimli’s night-chilled hair and inhaled the scent of him: wood-smoke, the metal of his armor, the underlying hint of something almost like cinnamon. Even the tang of pipeweed, a scent Legolas found unpleasant, was familiar and comforting now: the reminder that Gimli was _real_ , not only a lifelike dream.

“I missed you,” he murmured into Gimli’s hair.

“And I you.” Gimli’s fists tightened in Legolas’s tunic, the grip so strong that Legolas wondered if he might tear the fabric. Instead of concern, though, the thought sent a shiver of delight through him – the thought that Gimli was so eager to hold him that he did not care about keeping his clothing intact; the thought of Gimli’s strong hands on his body –

It almost frightened him sometimes, the intensity of his emotion in response to such thoughts. How _right_ he had come to feel in Gimli’s arms, how much he had come to rely on this night every month.

“How are you?” he breathed to distract himself. “And – and your family?”

There was another pause, another breathing-together, before Gimli answered. “We are as well as can be expected,” he said carefully. Careful – always they were careful: sharing only the most harmless of details about their lives; keeping their tales personal rather than political. Legolas knew why – though he would trust Gimli with his life, they were both acutely conscious of the delicate line they walked, their places in the inner workings of different kingdoms. Allies they might be, but how could Legolas tell Gimli anything his father would not reveal to Dáin in negotiations?

But there were moments like now, when he heard the weariness in Gimli’s voice, all the emotion that pulsed behind the words he did not say, when Legolas wished to kick down the flimsy structures of secrecy and political maneuvering that formed the scaffolding of their relationship, to smash it all to splinters and scatter the bits to the winds, to hold Gimli tight to him, both their feet on the ground, and _damn_ the consequences.

He did none of that. Instead he pulled back just slightly and touched one finger to the crease between Gimli’s brows, as though to smooth out the lines. Gimli did smile at that, and the sight of it eased the ravaging desperation – just enough that Legolas could smile in response.

“Well,” he said, “I am glad you made it here safely, at least.”

It was the tiniest fraction of what he would have liked to say, but Gimli sighed out a laugh and rested his head against Legolas’s chest. “Had you told my younger self I would say this, I would have laughed at you,” he said, “but there is nowhere I would rather be.”

* * *

“This scouting mission will be longer than the usual,” Mjothar was explaining, pacing back and forth before the gathered warriors. “Farther east into Dale, rather than the western route we typically follow. As some of you here know, who have been in council with our king” – his eyes rested on Gimli – “Dale’s leadership has shared their uncertainty with their defenses. We would assess the situation for ourselves, so we might have a better sense of the reinforcements we might make here, should they need to retreat.”

Gimli knew Mjothar’s words were meant for him – knew that, as one of the most experienced warriors in this group – and one who had heard the words from the king himself – everyone was waiting for him to step forward and take charge.

He said nothing. Mjothar cleared his throat, and Gimli’s stomach squirmed at the feeling that he was letting his commander down as Mjothar continued, his voice a bit uncertain for a few words before settling back into its former cadence. “The mission is expected to take two weeks, and we hope for a party of eight to ten – large enough to hold their own; small enough not to attract the attention of too many foes. I seek volunteers to lead it, though I will assign others if we cannot fill out the party with volunteers alone.”

Gimli kept his eyes fixed off to the side, feigning interest in the ancient double-bladed axe hanging on the wall, but he swore he could feel the heat as Mjothar’s gaze rested on him once more. Always he was the first to volunteer for such tasks; surely he ought to have built up enough good will to spare him this once. After all, the journey did not truly require one with his standing; there were plenty of other warriors with tactical minds –

But really, all he could think was that if he departed on this patrol, he would not return in time for the full moon.

The silence hung heavy over them, and Gimli wondered if the force of his stare would bring the axe crashing down and break the moment.

Finally, Dwalur spoke up. “I will lead the mission, if you approve.”

“Good, good.” Mjothar nodded a bit frantically, looking relieved – but Gimli did not dare to turn his gaze back to the others until enough had spoken up that the party was full. He knew his silence was conspicuous and did not dare to meet Mjothar’s eyes until he had left the courts where they met.

But he could not avoid everyone. “So,” said Dwalur, falling into step beside him as he made to flee. “You will not be patrolling.”

“No,” said Gimli. Dwalur would wheedle as much as he could out of him, but that did not mean he needed to make it easy.

“I see.” Dwalur glanced at him sidelong. “Full moon?”

Gimli missed a step, stumbled, and straightened his shoulders self-consciously. “Perhaps,” he muttered. Dwalur had more than once remarked on his absence at those times, and his questions were growing more difficult to shake off.

“I suppose you would not wish to leave your _friend_ waiting.” Dwalur raised a teasing eyebrow.

Gimli tried for a noncommittal hum, which he thought emerged as more of a squawk. _A friend in Dale_ was all he had said once, when pressed too hard to remain silent, but clearly Dwalur had drawn his own conclusions.

Which, he reluctantly admitted to himself, were not too far off the mark.

Dwalur sighed. “Well,” he said, perhaps resigning himself to the fact that Gimli would not give him any more information, “I hope you have a good night, at least.” His grin grew wicked. “Though perhaps you will get as little rest as we do, despite being in a warm bed rather than a cold camp.”

He laughed as Gimli growled, ducked out of the way of Gimli’s hand, and dashed off down the hall.

It was not worth pursuing, but Gimli sighed. Little rest – that was true enough, but he would hardly be spending the night in a warm bed, even if they had one to share. One night and one night only, he had made the mistake of murmuring in Legolas’s ear what he wished to do with him, if they only had the peace and safety to do so. He had not been expecting Legolas to tense and draw back – and then explain to him the nature of elven marriage, thus putting to bed – hah! – any of Gimli’s notions for more.

Well. What Dwalur would say if he knew that Gimli planned to stand shivering all night at the edge of Mirkwood in exchange for nothing more than companionship and kisses – but that mattered not. All that mattered was that Gimli would trade almost anything for it.

* * *

The first hour after sunset was always the worst.

Legolas stood beside the wide window of his bedchamber, shifting uneasily from foot to foot and adjusting the strap of his quiver over his shoulder as he watched the already-dim light fade. It shamed him almost, to think of what he had become – slipping away at night out his window! – but he could not leave through the doors; the guards would recognize him and ask about his purpose, and he dared not be seen and let the accounts be contradicted.

As he had learned, from the first disastrous attempt to slip out (resulting in multiple search parties and the most blistering lecture he had ever received from his father), the only way to do this was if everyone thought he was somewhere else.

“All is in readiness.”

And that meant that he needed an accomplice.

He turned around to see Eleniel standing in the doorway. “The patrols have been divided up?”

“And sent on their way, as always, with orders to report to me,” said his friend. “Each believe that the other unit is reporting to you.”

Legolas could not convey all his gratitude in a single expression, but he did his best. He knew what Eleniel risked for him each time she made this cover – and knew that she would spend all the night anxious for his return. “Thank you,” he said, though it could never be enough. “I repeat it always, but I am very grateful for all you do for me. If I can ever make it up to you . . .”

She smiled faintly in response. “I do only what you would do for me,” she said. “But I will say I should like to meet your dwarf one day.”

Legolas sighed. Eleniel did not know Gimli’s name or lineage, or his history with their kingdom – but for all she had done for him, he could not have kept from her where he went or whom he met. “And I should like him to meet you,” he said. “If, someday . . .”

“I know,” she said, her lips tightening in that sad half-smile. “Well, be safe, Legolas. Find me as soon as you return.”

“Of course,” he promised, and then turned, letting the restless energy have the best of him at last. With a glance from side to side to be sure no one could see him, he climbed out the window, shinnied to the ground, and began to pick his way east through the forest.

* * *

Night had completely fallen, the full moon glowing faintly even through the thick cover of clouds, and Legolas was not here.

Gimli shivered in the damp air – the rain had stopped, thankfully, and his oilcloth cloak protected him from the worst of the wet, but the chill lingered – and glanced around uneasily. It was always darker on cloudy nights, and he was grateful that their meeting-place at the outskirts of the forest contained only a few smaller trees amidst the shrubs. Before him the tall, thick trees of Mirkwood loomed, and though he could still see in the dark, their threat seemed much more eerie on nights like these.

Or perhaps it was that he was yet alone, and Legolas had not yet come to join him.

Gimli rubbed at his arms – normally this late in the night, he would be wrapped already in Legolas’s embrace to keep him warm. But the elf was not here, and his speculations as to why grew only more dire with every moment he did not come.

Sending letters between Mirkwood and Erebor was an ordeal, particularly with their need for secrecy – but always before they had managed to alert one another when they would not be able to come for a planned liaison. Gimli had received no such letter this month, so whatever the meaning of this absence, it could not be planned.

Unless it was, and Legolas had decided he no longer wished to come. That he had had enough of Gimli’s company, and had not even seen fit to explain why.

Though, Gimli thought with a kind of bitter mirth, in truth that was the best possible explanation.

But even as he thought that, the trees rustled, and his head snapped up.

Legolas rarely made noise at his approach, so this must be something different – something more sinister. Gimli’s hand came to rest on the axe at his belt, his breath coming quick and cold into his chest as he braced himself to draw –

But no. Even as he shifted into a defensive stance, the trees shook and an elf dropped to the ground, a smudge of shadow against the darker forest behind him. His movements were clumsier than usual, Gimli thought, but as familiar to his eyes as one of his own kin.

“Legolas,” he breathed, and rushed forward.

Legolas stumbled into his arms, his clothing damp, his hair askew. “Gimli,” he sighed out against Gimli’s hair, leaning against him as though he lacked the strength to stand upright. “Forgive me my delay.”

“Think nothing of it.” Gimli held Legolas tightly, reveling in the warmth of him even through the dripping of his hair and clothing. But when he inhaled, he caught an edge to the scent of damp leather, an unfamiliar tang. He frowned. “Are you well?”

Legolas’s arms tightened around Gimli, his voice muffled in Gimli’s hair. “Well enough.”

“Legolas.” Gimli pulled back and held Legolas around the waist, looking him up and down. “Did something happen on your way here? Are you injured?”

“Yes, and no,” said Legolas. “Or, not badly.” He was favoring one leg slightly, and leaned on Gimli more heavily than usual as they made their way farther from the trees to settle down on their usual log. “I was surprised by a small band of spiders on my way.”

“Spiders?” Gimli had heard the tales of the spiders of Mirkwood – from Legolas and from his own kin – of their massive fangs, their paralyzing venom. His eyes swept over Legolas once more, seeking tears in his clothing. “Were you bitten?” What could they do if that were true – surely they should not venture back into the forest. “Shall we go on to Dale and fetch help?”

“No, no, I am fine,” said Legolas. “They were no match for me once I was wise to their presence.” He withdrew three bloodstained arrows from his quiver and presented them for Gimli’s inspection. “But they did take me by surprise, and I regret to confess that I lost my foothold.” He stretched out his right leg and rotated his ankle one way, then the other, with a grimace. “It will be fine once I have rested it a bit, but the journey did take longer than I had anticipated.”

Gimli waved that away. “I say again, think nothing of that. But – you killed all those you encountered?” He knew that Legolas frequently made the journey through the forest alone, and that he was not equipped to do so himself without losing his way – but never had they come so close to disaster. Legolas’s braids were half-unraveled, his face scratched – presumably from tree branches – and he looked weary in a way that he might otherwise have tried to disguise. How could Gimli send him back alone? “Should I accompany you when you return, to ensure all is well?”

“And then leave the forest again on your own?” Legolas shook his head. “Absolutely not. I had things well in hand; I beg you not to worry for me.”

“Perhaps,” Gimli murmured, but he felt his mouth twisting in unhappiness. It felt so wrong to simply bid Legolas farewell at the end of their time, particularly now when he was not at his best. “Can you not stay a bit longer, then, and return in the daylight at least?”

“I can do that, if you have no objection.” Gimli thought he heard an edge of relief in Legolas’s voice. “It will give me more time to stretch out my foot, anyway.”

“I suggested it.” Gimli poked him gently. “Of course I have no objection. Anyway, I will not be expected home until tomorrow evening. You will not be missed?”

“I may, but Eleniel knows where I have gone, and knows to look for me if I am yet away too long past daybreak. I can signal her when I am near enough, so she will not worry.”

Eleniel. Legolas had mentioned her a few times – his second and the only person within Mirkwood who knew his secret. She did not know Gimli’s name, but she knew the basic details of their arrangement, and had come to cover for his absences – the one exception to their secrecy Legolas had begged after an early disastrous attempt at slipping away.

Still this plan did not sit quite right with Gimli, but he did not argue any further. For where things stood, there was no better solution.

They said little that night – only held one another. From time to time Legolas would rise and pace about, carefully testing his bad ankle, and each time Gimli would knot his hands in his lap and stare at them to keep his worry from showing in his eyes.

Times were dark, and they both lived dangerous lives – Gimli knew it, but never had it felt so near as it did tonight. And as the sky slowly lightened, grey still behind the thick clouds, it was all he could do not to cling to Legolas.

“And you are sure Eleniel will hear your signal?” he could not help fussing when the first hints of sun began to peek through the clouds. “You will not be left alone?”

“I will not be alone for long,” Legolas promised. “And I will be doubly vigilant – I will not be caught unawares again, I promise. I will come back to you next month.”

He fell silent after the words, and Gimli wondered if he too felt the same – that it was so paltry a promise, so long a time. For he knew that the plunge in his spirits the days after the full moon was apparent even to others around him. A month was too long to wait for a visit barely snatched from the jaws of danger.

“Would that it were not so long,” he murmured.

Legolas hummed agreement. “Or for such a short meeting.” His arm tightened around Gimli’s shoulders. “I confess, this is not the first night I have wished I need not leave so soon.”

“I wonder . . .” He had not thought of this – how could that be? “The inn in Dale, the one where I rent a room each month. It is a discreet place; the custom is to ask no questions of any guests and repeat nothing of their doings.” He could hardly sit still as the whole glorious image rose in his mind. “You have Eleniel to make your excuses – Legolas! Next month, let us take a room together.”

“Together?” said Legolas cautiously. “Do you mean” –

“Yes!” He could no longer sit still; he shifted Legolas’s arm from his shoulders and sprang up from the log to stand in front of the elf instead. “Think of it, Legolas! We might spend all the night together – and indoors, instead of out here in the damp!” It had not rained again, thankfully, but Gimli never relished the colder nights like these. “And anyone who sees us together will know not to speak of it to any other. What do you think?”

“The whole night . . .” Legolas echoed. “And in a warm place!” He tweaked at Gimli’s oilcloth. “You know it does not bother me to be out in the weather, but I always worry you will take sick after a night like this.”

Every month Gimli regretted his decision to tell Legolas about the one time that had happened, but it seemed it would work to his advantage now. “You will do it, then?” he said eagerly. “I will tell you the name of the inn, and if you can contrive an excuse to visit Dale – we might manage a day and a night, at least!”

“Likely that is all the time I will be able to win,” said Legolas, “but it is already more than we have ever managed to snatch for one meeting.” He tilted his head up – sitting, it was below Gimli’s level – and Gimli obliged him by leaning in for a kiss. “Yes,” Legolas said when they separated. “Yes, I will count on that. And perhaps it will make the month to come easier to bear.”

* * *

Legolas approached the dilapidated old inn on hesitant feet, half wondering if he had misremembered the name. Was this truly the place he and Gimli were meant to meet?

He was not as familiar with Dale as Gimli, perhaps, but he had visited fairly frequently – at least every few years since its establishment less than a century ago. This inn looked older than the kingdom itself, and Legolas found himself wondering if it had been the first structure built in this city – and then immediately left to molder in ruin.

But he could hear the sounds of carousing coming from within, and anyway Gimli had warned him that the place looked – and was – disreputable. He would have to merely trust the dwarf’s words.

The pathway to the door had once been paved evenly with stones, but they had since been weathered and cracked, and some – it seemed – struck until they shattered. Legolas picked his way along the walkway, feeling strangely shy. Only now did he appreciate the discomfort Gimli had undergone for him, meeting at the edge of the woods – here in a realm of men he felt as uncertain as Gimli must have near the borders of Mirkwood.

The wood of the building looked about to rot apart, and Legolas might have doubted whether the inn were even still in use were it not for the sounds from within. There was a rusted metal door knocker beside the door in the shape of a ring of birds, and Legolas took a deep breath and tapped it three times.

When the door opened, the sounds of shouting and cursing and clinking rushed out at Legolas along with a wave of scent: sweat and beer and pipe-smoke. He swallowed hard and braced himself, looking down to meet the eyes of the innkeeper in the doorway.

“Well?” grunted the man. He was short and wrinkled, with tufts of wild grey hair and a cloak that had seen better days, and he looked Legolas up and down impatiently.

“Good evening,” said Legolas, though he already had the sense that it was the wrong thing to say. “I – I was meeting someone. A dwarf” –

“I can’t help you,” said the man suspiciously. “We do not answer” –

“There he is!” The next voice was blessedly familiar, and Legolas’s knees went weak – never had he heard it in the presence of another person before. Gimli was striding down a narrow, dimly lit hallway towards him, beaming and clearly much more at ease here than Legolas felt. “Thank you, Master Halward – he is with me. Come in,” he said to Legolas, and he reached out to catch Legolas’s hand and draw him inside.

It was such a simple motion – and so familiar – but a thrill went through Legolas when their hands touched, and he understood why Gimli had craved this so badly. It felt deliciously forbidden, touching one another in public, and it was all he could do to restrain a breathy laugh – but the innkeeper paid them no mind. He only grunted and shut the door behind Legolas as he followed Gimli off down the hall.

Gimli did not let go of Legolas’s hand as he led him deeper into the inn. It was a strange feeling – such an unfamiliar sensation when surrounded by others that Legolas almost felt the urge to pull away. But at the same time, he clung to it, trusting Gimli to guide him through the unfamiliar environment of the inn while his senses struggled to adjust.

The inn was lit dimly by lanterns fixed in the halls, but the light reflected oddly against the clouds of smoke drifting in from the common room along with the sounds of raucous laughter, dice, and the clinking of glasses. Legolas breathed shallowly, trying not to flinch at the noise or to let his face twist at the scent of pipeweed – stronger and more concentrated than the lingering traces he could always make out on Gimli’s clothes and hair. It was nearly as strong as the one time he had tried it for himself, long before in a tavern only slightly less questionable than this, and found it not to his taste. He could not say he was grateful to be inhaling it again.

It was this, in a way, that made Legolas realize how little he had been outside of Mirkwood in the last several centuries. He had been in mannish spaces before, of course, and even recently, but rarely had he shut himself away from feeling the air on his face. This was more _sensation_ in a smaller space than he was accustomed to, and his grip tightened on Gimli’s hand.

Gimli chuckled and reeled him closer by the hand. “Unfamiliar with frequenting places like this?”

“You might say so,” managed Legolas, a little breathlessly. “Is it so obvious?”

“To me, yes.” Gimli flexed his fingers, and Legolas tried to loosen his grip. “But also it is as plain to the eye as a perfectly-cut gemstone in an inferior smith’s brooch. You are too fine for such a setting.”

Now Legolas thought perhaps his shortness of breath was not due solely to the pipe-smoke.

They had turned a corner in a different direction from the sounds and smoke, and the air cleared just a bit, though the scent lingered. Now, Gimli came to a stop in front of an uneven door with a tarnished metal number five. “Here we are,” he said, removing a key from his pocket and working it with some care into the lock – which looked as though it had been bashed with something hard at some point, twisting it slightly out of shape. Legolas eyed it mistrustfully, but Gimli’s craftsman’s touch did not fail, and soon enough the door was open.

And then, a few more steps and it was shut behind them, muffling the noise of the rooms far away and enclosing them together within four walls – which, Legolas realized, they had never before experienced.

Faintly, vaguely, Legolas took in the room around them – the low light, the rickety table, the single bed – but he hardly had a chance to understand what he saw, for foremost in his view was Gimli before him, and it had been a month, and they were alone.

“Well,” said Gimli with a faint smile. “Come here.”

Legolas needed no further urging. He went into the dwarf’s arms, one of his hands fumbling amidst the dwarf’s beard to tilt up his chin, and kissed him.

It was their usual kiss of greeting, and yet not. Legolas had never realized it, but at the edge of the woods he was always on alert, senses straining for any sight or sound out of the ordinary – never able to lose himself in a moment without starting back into consciousness immediately after and cursing himself for his lapse in watchfulness. But here – for all the unfamiliarity of his surroundings, the sounds and scents of carousing reminding him they were not alone – with the locked door between them and all the others, they were safe.

Gimli broke the kiss finally – a motion unfamiliar, Legolas realized, because he himself had nearly always been the one to do so before. The dwarf let his head fall back against the door and they smiled at one another, both panting softly.

“Well met,” Legolas breathed at last, letting his fingers trail through Gimli’s beard.

Gimli reached up to cup his face. “And you.”

Basking in the pleasure of their reunion, Legolas gazed around the room at last. It was shoddily built – even he, with no knowledge of mannish architecture, could tell as much from the uneven ceiling and loose floorboards – and dingy, the lantern on the low table lighting mysterious stains on the walls and the cover of the single narrow bed. “You stay in this inn every month?” he said.

“I rent a room here every month,” Gimli corrected. “Only very occasionally do I sleep in it.” He followed Legolas’s gaze to the bed and grimaced. “I cannot speak to the cleanliness of the bed linens.”

Legolas chuckled vaguely, but the first sentence had caught his attention. How had he never thought of this before? Gimli _did_ rent a room here every month, and – he had never realized, never offered –

“You do,” he said. “Gimli. And you paid for tonight, as well – only so you could meet _me_. Please, let me make up half the cost – I have the money; I can afford” –

But he stopped, for Gimli was shaking his head.

“Absolutely not,” said the dwarf. “This inn is the cheapest in Dale, and I can afford it and more. Anyway, you travel alone through spider-infested woods every month. This is the least I can do.”

“But I do that gladly,” Legolas protested.

“As I am glad to do this.” Gimli stroked Legolas’s cheek, his eyes soft. “The cost of these stays is worth far less than the pleasure of your company.”

“Ah,” Legolas said faintly. His cheeks warmed and his breath caught at the fondness in Gimli’s smile, and he was powerless to continue insisting.

Gimli chuckled and squeezed him tight. “Well,” he said. “Now we have settled that, shall we brave the common room and these barbarous men for a drink?”

“Ah,” said Legolas again, licking his lips. Perhaps he had grown too accustomed to having Gimli to himself in these nights, but – “Is it not – well – rather loud?”

 _And public,_ he did not add – but Gimli seemed to hear it in his voice. “And so we see what makes the mighty elf-warrior quake like steel struck too soon.” He laughed again, but his eyes were still gentle. “We needn’t stay long, but this inn is not only the least expensive but also the most discreet. No one will carry tales of us, and they will keep their comments to themselves. And I confess I would revel in that – in the ability to sit openly by your side without fear of what will be said.” He tweaked one of Legolas’s braids, and Legolas shivered happily at the touch. “Will you grant me that honor?”

Legolas _melted_. The image Gimli presented – the thought of being truly anonymous, free to be together before the eyes of others, even if only for one night –

“When you describe it thus,” he said, “how can I refuse?”

* * *

Gimli led Legolas down to the common room with an arm around his waist and a flutter in his heart.

He stole sideways glances at Legolas by his side as they made their way down the dim, smoky hallway, hardly daring to believe what all his senses insisted was true. Legolas had tensed against the sounds and scents of merrymaking down the hall, but in some ways it was the very dinginess of the setting that reassured Gimli that this was real. To walk openly with Legolas into one of the finer establishments in Erebor, for instance, would be too much a dream – but this place was just imperfect enough to be real.

The next time he glanced over at Legolas, the elf caught his eyes. “What is it?” Legolas asked.

“What do you mean?”

“You are smiling.”

Gimli squeezed Legolas tighter with the arm around his waist. “How could I not?”

At this Legolas smiled, too, and looked away with a bashful little laugh that set Gimli’s heart trembling once more.

Gimli had frequented more than his share of questionable taverns throughout his life, so there was nothing in the bustle and noise of the common room to faze him. He took it all in and catalogued it quickly: the table of men gambling at dice in the corner, clearly off-duty soldiers looking for a bit of sport, shamelessly eyeing the barmaids (who, Gimli could tell from the glints in their eyes, were well-capable of handling themselves). The scrawny man lurking in the corner near the bar, clearly a cutpurse waiting for other customers to drink enough that they lost track of their belongings. The two muscular women sharing a seat at one of the long tables, fingers entwined on top of the table – almost shyly, as though they would not have dared to do this anywhere else –

The sight of that clasp reminded Gimli why he was here, and he turned with a smile to see how Legolas was faring.

The elf was clearly less accustomed to such environments than Gimli himself. He hid it well, his face still as though carved, but his fingers tightened on Gimli’s shoulder.

“What is it?” Gimli teased. “Is the elf prince not accustomed to such disreputable establishments?” He smiled reassuringly when Legolas turned to look down at him, but kept his words light. “After all the tales I have heard of your folk, I would not expect you to shy away from the thought of a drink in a tavern.”

Legolas snorted, but Gimli’s words had had the desired effect; his face lost the wooden expression. “I would wager I could match anyone in this tavern for drink,” he said, “but _some_ of us have the sense not to contain all the sound and scent to one small room.” He took a deep breath, holding Gimli’s shoulder hard, and let it out slowly and deliberately, his eyes roaming around the room once more and his grip relaxing.

“Anyone, you say?” Gimli raised an eyebrow. “Bold words, from an elf who has never been treated to the strength of Erebor’s ales.”

Legolas looked back down at him, the spark of challenge in his eyes. “Anyone,” he said firmly. “But not tonight.”

“Oh? And why is that?”

Gimli had meant the challenge to be teasing, but Legolas’s next words knocked the breath out of him. “Because tonight is the only night I have to spend with you in safety,” he said. “And I would not risk forgetting a moment of it should we both drink to excess.”

“Ah,” Gimli managed at last, after a moment of staring at him. “Well – you have me there.” They might receive sidelong looks, perhaps, but no one here would truly take their minds off their own business for long enough to care – so Gimli lifted Legolas’s hand from his shoulder to his lips. “But one drink, perhaps, we might share?”

Legolas turned his head so that Gimli’s hand lingered against his cheek. “Of course.”

They found seats on a large cushioned chair not too far from the bar. It was not _truly_ meant to be shared, but they fit well enough, even if one of Legolas’s thighs rested half on Gimli’s lap, and Gimli nudged him aside to rise. “Save this for us,” he said. “I will order our drinks.”

The barmaid spared him a single bored glance when he went up to the bar, rising onto his toes to better see over the top of the counter. “Two mugs of ale,” he said proudly, puffing his chest a little – it was such a small thing, but the ability to order drinks for himself and Legolas, to claim some tiny amount of ownership in a world where he otherwise dared so little – it meant more to him than he could have explained.

A small pleasure, in a world where even those seemed to be dwindling.

Gimli swallowed as that thought descended on him, fishing in his purse for payment in an attempt to distract himself (and keeping an eye on the man still lurking in the corner), but he could not help casting another glance around the room, with an eye to the shadows.

He could not have known it even last month when he had made the suggestion, but he was especially glad now that they had agreed to meet indoors. After the visit a week ago – the messenger from Mordor, whose voice and presence still sent chills down Gimli’s spine just remembering – the thought of standing all night outside the eaves of Mirkwood did not appeal.

He glanced back at Legolas, who was looking back at him with a soft smile, and Gimli’s heart ached. There were more dimensions to the secrecy of this thing between them, and now – the privilege of sitting openly beside Legolas, ordering ale for both of them threw into sharp relief all that he was not able to tell Legolas of himself. All the delicacy of Erebor’s politics he did not dare to share – the ferocious arguments over whether or not to give in to the messenger’s demands, arguments that should have been given no place in council. All the fear of what might be brought down upon them if they did not comply . . .

“Your ales,” said the barmaid’s voice – sharp, impatient, startling him out of his thoughts. He turned around to take the mugs, pushing the coin across the counter in a sharp motion that he imagined was also clearing the thoughts out of his head.

He could dwell on any other night of the month. Tonight he was here with Legolas, and he would not allow anything to mar that.

“There you are,” said Legolas, wedging himself into the corner of the chair to make room for Gimli to sit half on top of him. “I had begun to wonder if the barmaid had caught your attention instead.”

Gimli laughed, and pushed the dark thoughts sternly to the back of his mind. “With you awaiting me, how could she ever?”

Legolas smiled at him again, his free arm wrapping around Gimli’s shoulders to pull him close – and for the moment, this was all Gimli needed.

* * *

They remained in the common room for as long as it took them to finish their ale and a small meal of bread and potatoes and questionable sausage (which Legolas passed on to Gimli). But for all that Gimli clearly took great pleasure in the new joy of sitting together before the eyes of others, Legolas found himself yearning for the solitude of – and here his heart raced – their shared bedroom.

When they had finished their food and drink, Gimli gave him a smile of promise. “Well,” he said. “Shall we retire?”

“Yes,” said Legolas, and he did not think it was the smoke that stole his breath.

Gimli led the way back to their room, and Legolas allowed himself to gaze around, through the haze of smoke that had slowly taken on the dullness of familiarity over the evening. It was strange to be here, in this mannish place – strange to spend a night so far outside his kingdom.

He had gained permission, for once, claiming that he simply wished for a night away, and his father had granted it with a look of understanding that made Legolas wonder – for all his own cares, how much more heavily must Thranduil’s wear upon him? But even now, he could not quite relax – his thoughts, in the quiet moments, still fled back to the forest, to Eleniel and the rest of his unit, to the prisoner whose guard shift would be changing at this very moment –

“What are you thinking?” said Gimli, his fingers stroking gently at the soft inside of Legolas’s wrist, where he had left off his vambraces for the first time in Gimli’s company.

“I” – Not for the first time, Legolas felt a pang as he swallowed down words he did not dare to speak, words he wished he could share. “Nothing,” he sighed finally.

“I understand,” said Gimli softly, and from the wistfulness in his voice, Legolas knew he did.

But then they were at the door to their room, and all other thought fled.

This time when the door closed behind them, it was not only the relief of privacy that accompanied them – it was the knowledge that this bedroom was theirs for the night. Legolas’s eyes strayed to the single bed, and his cheeks warmed. He hung back by the door, suddenly shy, as Gimli moved deeper into the room and busied himself lighting a candle for their bedside table.

“You know,” he said, his back to Legolas, “I expect nothing of you.”

Legolas’s breath hitched, a slight huff escaping him before he could stop himself. “I – I know,” was all he could think to say. He knew Gimli wanted more than he could give – knew that neither of them could even think about their situation with an eye to – well – They could not, and Gimli knew it. But Legolas still remembered how readily he had dropped the subject the first time, how he had never brought it up again. Gimli would never demand more of him than he was able to give – but still, being here –

“I hope,” Gimli continued, his voice gentle, his shadow long on the wall, “that you will talk with me until late in the night, as we always do – but that you will feel comfortable to do it lying at my side, in the warmth of the bedcovers.”

A flock of sharp-winged moths took up residence in Legolas’s belly at that thought – at the sight of the bed in the light-shadow of the candle. At the thought of lying beside Gimli with his hair unbound, in his lower layers or his night clothes? At the thought –

“Yes,” he breathed. “Yes, I will.”

They undressed in the low light, backs to one another by mutual agreement, but still something hovered in the air between them, smoldered in Legolas’s belly. Undressing before another was nothing new to him; among his kin there was no shame or taboo in bare bodies, but the knowledge that it was not so for others, that there was a privacy and an intimacy to this closeness – it was a dull heat, more an ember than a fire, warm in his lower belly.

When they finished and turned to face one another, for a moment Legolas could only stare.

Gimli looked softer and more vulnerable than Legolas had ever seen him: stripped of all his armor and even his shoes, dressed in a loose nightshirt and sleep pants. The night clothing somehow made him look stronger and softer at the same time: the breadth of his shoulders and dark ink markings visible beneath the thin fabric, but at the same time the intimacy of his bare feet on the floor stole Legolas’s breath away.

Gimli was gazing at him as well, his lips parted just slightly, a faint flush visible in his cheeks by the low light of the candle – looking strangely shy in a way Legolas had never seen him.

Gimli broke the silence between them first. “May I,” he said, “or, would you permit me to unbind your hair?”

 _Oh_. Legolas had not even thought of that, of the way Gimli’s hands might feel in his hair, and he let out a shuddering breath. “Yes,” he said, “please.”

They moved around one another carefully – so carefully, like snails peeled out of their shells: without armor, their delicate inner parts revealed to one another at last. Gimli unbound Legolas’s braids slowly, his hands gentler than Legolas had never felt them, and he in turn held himself breathlessly upright, not daring to sink back against Gimli’s body. And then Gimli turned and Legolas freed his hair in turn, letting his fingers wander amidst the full glorious mass of it the way he had never been free to do before –

And then Gimli climbed into bed and held the bedcovers up to invite Legolas in to join him.

It took them a moment – some adjusting before they found a position where their bodies fit comfortably together. Gimli’s greater weight sent the flimsy mattress sloping slightly in his direction, but Legolas’s longer limbs took up more space. Eventually they settled nose to nose, limbs curled in towards the middle of the bed, Gimli’s knees brushing the tops of Legolas’s thighs, and stared at one another as the candle burned low.

For a moment, neither said a word. Legolas could feel all the shaky uncertainty of the night – all the larger, greater uncertainty of the world around them – mingle with the relief of being in Gimli’s presence once more within him, swelling up into a mass in his stomach and throat, pressing up – until it spilled out at last in a quiet, breathy laugh.

“What is it?” mumbled Gimli beside him, but Legolas could hear the smile in his voice.

Legolas could not explain it all, and what came out at last was, “I remembered what you said about the bed linens.”

Gimli started, and then laughed as well: a hearty rumbling noise that started in his belly and set Legolas to giggling helplessly, until they were slumped together in a pile in the middle of the bed, breathless and relieved and light.

Neither of them could explain what had set them off so, but after that it was easier to talk as they always did – the tension between them broken, the world narrowed down to their small, warm cave between the sheets of this bed.

The cleanliness of the bed linens was the tiniest uncertainty compared to all the fears and questions that lingered in the night – in both of their kingdoms – but for now, Legolas thought, he could relax into Gimli’s presence and leave the rest of the world behind.

* * *

The word reached Gimli as soon as he returned from his usual patrol along the western borders of Dale and Esgaroth – the whole of the Mountain tense with the news: The messenger from Mordor had visited them again.

“Again?” He did not know exactly why he had repeated it; Dwalur’s explanation had been perfectly intelligible. But perhaps some part of Gimli thought – or hoped – that he had misheard, weary as he was. They had taken this latest journey at an unforgiving pace, and he had not yet had any opportunity to rest or eat – had not even been able to report back to Mjothar with word of their travels.

But Dwalur looked nearly as weary as Gimli himself was, without the explanation of the long journey. “Again,” he said. “With the same question about Bilbo Baggins. King Dáin has been in council with your father and his other advisors nearly without pause ever since, and has tripled the guard on the mountain. We have had hardly a chance to rest since.”

“Tripled the guard?” Gimli knew the messenger was something to be taken seriously, but he was only one rider, after all. “Does he believe we risk being attacked?”

Dwalur shrugged. “We cannot be too careful, I suppose. Especially after the attack in Mirkwood – we do not know if they were visited by the rider as well, but if they turned him down and it was an act of retaliation” –

“Attack in” – Gimli’s heart thumped sickeningly in his ears. This time the wish that he had heard wrongly was even stronger, but why would he have conjured up such a thought? “Mirkwood was attacked? When?”

“Two days ago, perhaps? Word reached us only yesterday, the day after the rider’s visit.” Dwalur frowned at him; Gimli could only imagine what his friend must see on his face. “Dáin would take no chances that the same might befall us.”

“What do you” – Gimli swallowed. “The attack, do you know” – How to phrase his fears without arousing suspicion? “That is to say, what was different about this? The elves frequently face danger from the spiders in their woods, do they not?” _Do they not_ , as if he had not held a battle-worn Legolas close himself after a narrow escape. As if he did not worry every full moon until he saw Legolas at last. As if he were not worried even sicker now –

“I did not hear the news firsthand,” Dwalur said. “But from what I understand, this was a targeted strike near their halls, rather than a skirmish in the woods. And they do not alert us for mere skirmishes. Whatever has transpired is abnormal enough to worry our leadership, anyway, which is all that I need to know.” His skeptical look at Gimli asked what his words did not – not yet, anyway, but how much might Dwalur piece together himself if Gimli gave him any further reason to pry?

“I see.” Gimli’s thoughts were waging war inside his head – was it worth asking and raising suspicion, if Dwalur did not know? But was it worth going without the knowledge, if it was possible he might learn it now? In the end he could not help it; the words were flowing forth. “And was anyone – do you know if they sustained losses?”

Dwalur’s brows drew together. “I believe so,” he said. “But I do not know with any certainty. Why are you so curious about this? I have never known you to have any love for the elves of Mirkwood.”

 _None do_. Gimli bit back the words and forced his tone to lighten, though a heavy rock had sunk into his stomach. “No more than I do any of our allies,” he said. “But I would be a fool not to respect that they stand between us and Dol Guldur – or to wish their numbers diminished. This is ill news.”

“Ill news indeed,” said Dwalur, and drew a hand across his forehead. “Well, welcome home, Gimli. I am sure your father will tell you more than I can when he is finally released from his council with the king.”

Gimli thought that he managed to bid Dwalur farewell with an even tone – or at least that his distress might be passed off as concern about the messenger, about their future. But in truth his blood was rushing in his ears; his chest felt compressed to nearly half its size, so that it was difficult to draw a full breath. _I believe so,_ Dwalur had said of Mirkwood’s losses. And if the attack had been near their halls –

Legolas would have been one of the first to respond, if that were the case; Gimli knew that. He had never seen the elf fight, but he had heard him speak often enough, in his humble yet matter-of-fact way, to know that Legolas faced such danger on a daily basis and did not shrink from it. And if he had responded to such a thing – if their halls had been struck in a targeted attack – Gimli did not question his skills, but if it had been a surprise, or an ambush –

He had been exhausted and hungry when he arrived home, craving a rest and a good meal. Now he gave his report tonelessly, removed his mail without feeling it, walked home in a numb daze. No one else was home when he arrived, but instead of making himself the meal he had dreamed of, he merely unwrapped the remnants of cram and dried meat from his travel rations and ate without tasting a bite of it.

Should he send a letter? Full moon was not for another two weeks, but could he stand not knowing until then? Or perhaps his father would have been given more information in council with Dáin; Gimli might tease it out of him when he returned.

But for all the agony and dread of uncertainty, the thought of knowing did not make him feel any better.

* * *

He was still sitting in the shared kitchen, picking listlessly at his rations, when his father arrived home.

Glóin looked no better than Gimli felt, shuffling wearily into the kitchen and sinking into a chair as though the walk home had cost him all the strength he had. “Ah, Gimli,” he said, drawing a hand across his face. “Good, you are here.”

Gimli tensed, hoping his father would not ask him about his patrol. He could not even think about such matters now, not with his thoughts already racing to construct an excuse to ask for word about Mirkwood – without revealing how desperately he needed it. “I am,” he said.

But Glóin did not ask. “I have been in council with Dáin for nearly two days,” he said.

“I have heard,” said Gimli cautiously. His heart had begun to race again, dispelling his exhaustion. Perhaps his father would volunteer information without his needing to ask? “Did you . . . what was discussed?”

“You have heard,” said Glóin. “Then you were told that we received another visitor from Mordor?”

Gimli nodded. He ought to take that threat more seriously, he knew, but how could he manage to do that when he wondered – when he did not know –

“Dáin stands firm against giving him the information he demands,” said Glóin, “as do I and the remaining members of our Company. But there are a few voices raised in dissent and our own self-interest.” His mouth twisted. “It seems some among our people have forgotten what we owe to Bilbo Baggins.”

The indignation at this thought was the first emotion to break through the fog of Gimli’s anxious thoughts. “They would give in to him, then?”

“Dáin will not allow it,” said Glóin. “But neither does he know what we ought to do. Particularly in the wake of – did you also hear of the attack launched on Mirkwood?”

Gimli stifled the sound rising up in his chest. “I did,” he said, striving to keep his voice neutral, though he could feel it shaking. “And I wondered” –

“Then you will understand that Dáin would risk nothing of the sort happening here.” Had his father even heard Gimli’s question? “And since we do not know what to do, we will go to someone who might.”

Somehow, the space Gimli had hoped for to ask his questions was closing already. “What do you mean?” was all he could ask, though everything in him yearned to turn the subject back to Mirkwood.

“Dáin has approved a journey to Rivendell to ask Lord Elrond,” said Glóin heavily. “He is learned in matters of lore, and his home is a safe haven to all. So I am glad you have returned from your patrol with haste – we leave in two days’ time.”

“We?” The rushing, sinking feeling had overcome Gimli again, as though he had fallen from a great height and his blood was the wind roaring in his ears. “You and I?”

“Yes. I hope you do not mind – I told Dáin you would accompany me. I thought you would be glad of a change to your duties.”

It was an understandable assumption. Gimli had complained about this routine patrol too many times to blame his father – and in the past he would be the first to volunteer for such a mission. But –

But in his mind he was already calculating the days, the distance. The full moon was in two weeks, and even if their stay in Rivendell were short, there was no chance that they would be back in time for him to make his meeting with Legolas. If Legolas were even there to meet.

Oh, he could not bear it any longer. “Then,” he said, striving to keep his voice steady, “I would know all that I have missed. What is” – He might make it sound strategic. “If we anticipate something similar here, I would know what we have heard of the attack on Mirkwood. Dwalur knew little about it.”

“Always tactics with you,” said Glóin. “But in truth we know very little. It was unusual in that the strike occurred very near their halls, and they were able to fend it off, but not without some loss. We were assured that their numbers were not so diminished that they would require aid, but that the paths through their realm might have thinner defenses.”

 _Not without some loss._ They would have shared, would they not, if the king’s son had been among those losses? But – perhaps they would not. Legolas had said nothing outright, but Gimli had perhaps gained an understanding of how Thranduil was with his realm. The forbidding appearance of the forest, the famous lack of hospitality toward guests and intruders, the rumored wealth – all gave off the image of a stronghold of a kingdom, greedy and eager to keep their riches to themselves. And yet Gimli had seen the cares of the kingdom on Legolas’s shoulders, the wounds to the forest and the elves who inhabited it that he would never have known about otherwise. Indeed, the tales of Mirkwood as a hostile realm, dangerous in both the fell creatures in the woods and the ferocity of its inhabitants, were belied by Legolas himself, who wore fear and grief and weariness alongside his humor and gentleness. Gimli remembered seeing him shed his cares just the once – just that one precious night in Dale – and only then had he realized the extent of Mirkwood’s worry, how little he knew –

A lump was rising in his throat, and he fought _hard_ to choke it back down. “I see,” was all he said.

Glóin sighed, and although their cares were quite different in this moment, Gimli felt a kindredness settle over them – that shared despair, with a core of desperate hope that they clutched because they had no other choice.

After a moment of this, Glóin glanced down at the table, for the first time seeming to see what Gimli was eating. Gimli prepared for questions, but instead his father only said, “Here, pass that over,” and reached for one of the last pieces of cram. 

The hard bread crunched as he bit into it, crumbs cascading onto the table, and he made a face. “Disgusting,” he said, and took another bite.

* * *

They were packed and prepared to leave within a day.

Gimli had hoped for more time at home, upon first returning from his patrol – but now he was glad he had not unpacked his things before his father spoke with him. He only had to replenish his stores of rations, add extra clothing and fire-making supplies – the journey to Rivendell was long, after all, and who knew what might befall them on the road? And now that he knew he could not meet Legolas, that he could not know what had become of the elf for some time yet, unless some fortune should bring word to his ears in Rivendell – now he was glad of a task, glad there would be little delay. Now at least he might channel the dread and fear of their visitor, of their world, of Legolas’s fate, into motion, into something _useful_.

They departed at dawn on the second day after he had returned, Gimli and Glóin and a few others who would escort them – as many as could be spared, but few enough that they would not be a crowd. That was to Gimli’s advantage, for he was in no mood to pass the miles with pleasant conversation.

There was little fanfare at their departure – they said their farewells to Gimli’s mother, and to Dáin, who reminded them of their mission and urged them to return home with speed and safety. And all the while, Gimli could feel the crackling beneath his hand, tucked away inside his cloak, of the letter he meant to send.

They would pass through Mirkwood, but not near enough to the Elvenking’s halls that he could hope for any answer to his word. But all the same, Gimli could not miss a meeting without telling Legolas where he had gone. And if he were not there –

Well, if he were not there, perhaps someone would at least know to send Gimli word.

He would post the letter in Dale or Esgaroth when they passed through. It would find its way into Legolas’s hands. He had to hope as much.

There was nothing more he could do.

* * *

Deep in the south of Mirkwood, the air grew darker and thicker, condensing into an unnatural fog that turned nearly to liquid in the lungs. Legolas’s breath rasped into his chest; he could hear the elves who followed panting heavily – this the only place in the forest where they could not move silently. It was hardly their forest any longer, this far south; they did not know if it was a magical illusion or some corruption in the soil and water, but the trees grew differently here: twisted both in shape and in song into something _other_ , a wrong echo of a not-tree. They did not speak to Legolas any longer – he could not hear; he could not see; he could not breathe; and ahead of him, their quarry had long since disappeared into the mist.

His chest aching with the effort to draw breath, he whistled a halt.

Eleniel whistled in response from where she held the rear of the party, a signal that they had all heard – necessary, in this thick mist – and Legolas turned to the side, waiting as they all formed a loose circle. He could hardly see, but it felt safer anyway knowing that there were eyes turned in every direction. And perhaps he was glad of the lack of vision, so he did not have to look into their accusing eyes.

“We must turn back,” he said heavily.

Surely they could not be surprised at the order, but an uproar arose anyway – an outburst of angry whispering. “We cannot!” said Duvaineth, while Damion insisted, “But Nithpantir!” and Lachor hissed, “They still have our captive!”

“I know,” said Legolas. He ought to be accustomed to issuing unpopular orders by now, but still he had never grown hard to the shared grief and guilt of such decisions – of the need to recognize a loss and turn back before it worsened. “I know, I know – but we are too close to the fortress. Can you not feel it?”

“If we are too close to the fortress,” said Faimes, “then Nithpantir is within it. How can we abandon him?”

“I know.” A wave of feeling was rising up within Legolas, battering at the walls around his heart, but he gritted his teeth _hard_ and fought it. This was not the first time he had had to make such a decision, but he _loathed_ it every time – to sacrifice one life to save the rest of the living. The image of the bodies strewn over the ground – taken in their attackers’ first onslaught – still burned behind his eyes. “But if he is within it, then he is lost.”

They all knew it. He _knew_ that their anger was only a reflection of their despair, that they could afford to express it now because they were not responsible for these losses. And he knew that it was anger he deserved – but he could not afford to let it sway him.

Eleniel came to his rescue, as she always did. “He is right,” she said, as loudly as any of them dared, her voice cutting over the din. “And you all know it. If they are within their stronghold, and we pursue them as far, then we _all_ lose our lives and there is no one to report back to the king.”

There was a pause for half a thick, foggy breath – and the din would have broken out again, but Legolas spoke up. “Be furious at me later,” he said. “For now, we turn back.” The next words tasted like metal in his mouth, but he forced them out. “This is an order.”

They could have fought him – and in truth, he would not have blamed them. But Eleniel had spoken truly: he was right, and they all knew it.

They turned back.

* * *

The journey back to their halls was silent.

Watchful, at first, but the heaviness lessened around them as they drew nearer to their home. The paths were familiar to their feet; their pace quickened, and the silence now came not from the eerie emptiness of a poisoned forest but from their own despair.

This was not their first failed mission, these not their first losses. But never before had they been struck so close to home, in such an organized, coordinated attack – two forces: one meant to distract the warriors on duty; the other targeting the guards of their prisoner. Gollum was gone now, his guards slain, and Nithpantir taken prisoner, to endure who knew what horrors at the hands of the monsters in Dol Guldur.

And it was Legolas’s fault.

If he had not allowed pity to sway him, had not insisted that the prisoner deserved to feel the fresh air, Gollum would be safe within their cellar yet and their forces would have been united to repel the attack. Perhaps there would still have been losses, but surely they would have been fewer. Mercy was not a luxury allowed in this kingdom – it was a lesson he had always struggled to learn, but never had they all paid so sorely for his folly.

He could feel the censuring eyes on him all the way back to the palace. He tried not to shrink beneath their anger – tried to take it into himself and use it to strengthen himself for his report to his father, his inevitable explanation of all they had lost.

He did not think it helped.

His father was outside the halls in full armor when they arrived back – doubtless the defenses had been strengthened in their absence. Legolas watched Thranduil’s eyes sweep over the group, taking in who was present and who was absent at a glance; noted the brief flick of his eyes up and down Legolas’s body, the slightest easing of the line between his brows. It was all the relief he would allow himself to show, Legolas knew – the only welcome he would receive until later in the evening when he joined his father in his study for a glass of wine – and usually it was enough to warm him inside. But today all he could think of was his own fault, his own failure, and his heart was cold ashes.

“We did not find them,” he said uselessly. “They have escaped to their stronghold with their hostage and with our captive.” In his younger days he might have wept at giving such a report; he was past that now. His tears could wait. “I am sorry, Adar. We failed.”

“You are alive,” said his father wearily. “In these days, sometimes that is all we can hope for.” He looked over the group of battered, defeated warriors. “Go clean up and rest yourselves. Legolas – come with me. There are things we must discuss.”

* * *

It was not until he was seated across from his father’s desk with a glass of wine that Legolas felt his own weariness.

The wounds he had sustained in the brief skirmish before their orc attackers had fled with their captives – shallow and not poisoned, thankfully – began to sting as soon as he sank into the chair; he could feel the salt of dried sweat on his face and was thankful for his tight braids keeping his hair back. But he forced himself to sit up straight, mirroring his father’s posture.

“You should have that seen to,” said Thranduil, nodding to the slash in Legolas’s armor over his left shoulder. The blade had barely reached the skin and the wound had stopped bleeding after only a moment, but it stung ferociously now.

Legolas shrugged. “It can wait.”

“I suppose so.”

Silence fell between them, and at last Thranduil took a sip of his wine. “Well,” he said. “Tell me everything.”

“We were taken by surprise.” Legolas grimaced and recounted it all – how Gollum had climbed too high into a feeble tree for any of them to reach him; how they had set the younger guards to keep watch on the ground when the alarm was sounded of an attack elsewhere – how they had returned after slaying their attackers to find the guards dead on the ground and Nithpantir and Gollum gone. How they had pursued, but their attackers were too far ahead of them. How he had made the decision to turn back.

“It was the right choice,” his father said when he finished. Nothing more – but Legolas recognized the generosity in his words, though he could not accept it.

“One right choice,” he said grimly, “in a thicket of wrong. Our captive is gone.”

“He is.” Thranduil sighed. “I am glad you did not sacrifice your lives for his return, but still word must be sent to Mithrandir and the man Aragorn.”

“And where shall we find them to send the word?”

“You will go to Imladris,” Thranduil said. “Even if they are not there, they are bound to return at some point. Lord Elrond can be trusted with this information, and perhaps he might see fit to tell you more about the creature’s importance than we were told at first.”

“I” – Legolas clamped his mouth shut. It was a charge he had no right to refuse, not when he bore the blame for all of this – and anyway, he could not turn down a direct order from his king. But in his mind he was frantically sorting through the days: the length of time to travel to Rivendell and then back. Even on horseback, he would be hard-pressed to return by the full moon, when he would next see Gimli.

 _Gimli_. He had held back all thought of the dwarf throughout all this, knowing that he would not be able to hold onto his brave face if he allowed himself to wish he could collapse into Gimli’s arms and be comforted. But the thought of him now brought a prickling wave of heat to the backs of Legolas’s eyes.

“Yes,” he said, unable despite his best efforts to keep his voice from wavering, “yes, of course I will go.”

His father did not meet his eyes, looking studiously away while Legolas fought to compose his face. It was the only sort of kindness that such a moment allowed. “I have already sent word to Dale and Erebor that our defenses may be thinned, and that they ought to tread with care should they need to use our forest paths. Rest tonight, and you will depart on the morrow. You may choose two guards to accompany you, but we cannot spare more than a small party – and Eleniel will need to stay here, to assume command in your absence.”

On the morrow. It was too soon – all of it was too soon – but he could do nothing more than nod and agree to his father’s plans.

* * *

He washed up quickly, not the long soak he preferred to take after a hard battle and long run – but he did not deserve such luxuries today. And anyway, he did not have the time. He would have to tell Eleniel where he was bound and pass off command to her, and choose and alert two companions, and pack his things, and –

And.

If his father had already alerted Erebor about what had happened – well. He did not know how much information Gimli would be given, but surely he would worry, if he heard – and would worry even more if Legolas did not meet him on the night of the full moon. Legolas could not bear to vanish without any word.

They did not send letters often, but if Eleniel would take it to Dale, it could be posted there. In this one instance, Legolas thought, it was worth the risk.

* * *

Glóin’s reunion with Geira was not what either of them might have hoped, before he had set out for Rivendell.

She did not blame him, of course – both of them knew their son well enough to know that Gimli would not have been swayed in his course by any advice or pleas – but still, Gimli’s failure to return and the uncertainty of his future weighed as heavily on her as it did on Glóin, and after his reports and explanations, they spent the rest of the evening in heavy silence.

But late in the evening, just as he had opened his mouth to suggest they go to bed, she frowned and sat up, seeming to remember something.

“Geira?” he said, but she rose from her chair and went to retrieve something from the writing desk.

“This came for Gimli while you were away,” she said. “I had thought to wait for him to return, but” –

Her lips pursed. _But now we do not know if he will,_ hung in the air between them, and Glóin spoke up to dispel the chill of them. “A letter?” he said. “From whom?”

“I do not know.” Geira held it out to him. “The seal is unfamiliar to me, and it came with the post from Dale. I think – well.” She blushed, just a bit. “If he is writing someone, that person ought to be told where he has gone, do you not think?”

Glóin pinned his wife with a look, and she shuffled her feet, but looked defiantly back, raising an eyebrow as if to say, _you are curious, too_.

And he could not deny it – he was. He could make out nothing from the paper or the seal – it looked as though someone had merely placed a plain band in wax, rather than any decoration. “Very well, then,” he said, trying to sound reluctant. “Let us see it, then.”

As soon as the seal was broken, both of their heads were over the paper, trying to read it as quickly as they could.

_Gimli,_

_My father tells me that he has sent word to your people already of the fighting here, so I imagine that you have heard. Do not fret; I am well, but I was involved, and I must now depart on an urgent errand elsewhere. It is very unlikely that I will return in time for the full moon, but I promise I will write to you again as soon as I am able to meet._

_Take care of yourself._

_Your_

_Legolas_

“The fighting here,” murmured Geira. “Could it be – does he mean – and that script, it looks” –

“Elvish,” said Glóin tightly. _Legolas_. He knew that name – had determined never to forget it, once he had learned it at the council. And he remembered his conversations with Gimli about the distaste of his companions on the Quest – surely it could not be – and yet, how could he deny the evidence of his own eyes?

“Elvish,” echoed Geira. “Does this mean – do you think” –

“If this Legolas is the same we met at the Council in Rivendell,” said Glóin, “then it is elvish indeed.”

“The one from the Council?” said Geira. “You mean Thranduil’s son?”

“The very same.” Glóin staggered backwards, his hand seeking the arm of his chair to help him sink into it. The memories of their days in Rivendell were unfolding again in his mind, in an entirely new pattern. “Can this mean – well. There is only one question to be asked, then.”

“I would say there are many,” said Geira wryly. “But the first and foremost is: why is Gimli corresponding with an elf of Mirkwood?”

“And,” said Glóin grimly, “why did he tell me nothing of it when we met that same elf in Rivendell?”

“ _Your_ Legolas,” murmured Geira. “Can it be . . .”

“Do not say it,” moaned Glóin. “Let me live in ignorance for just one moment longer, I beg you.”

His wife was not merciful. “It means our son has been meeting an elf,” she said. “Regularly. Without telling any of us. So he is either a traitor” – both of them scoffed aloud at that – “or” –

“Or,” said Glóin darkly, “it is much, much worse.”

* * *

Damion and Faimes returned from Rivendell without Legolas.

They gave their report almost too eagerly, words tumbling over one another – and Eleniel could hardly blame them, faced as they were with the dark glare of King Thranduil as he demanded the explanation for his son’s absence. _It was not our fault_ , they did not say, but it lurked unspoken within their jumbled explanation of an oath of secrecy, an evil ring, a quest to Mordor – and everyone in the room quailed at the furious light in Thranduil’s eyes at those words – and how Legolas had refused to be dissuaded in his decision to go.

Surely there was much more to this story than Eleniel – or even the other two – knew, judging by the way Thranduil’s lips pressed together, his hands tightening around the arms of his chair. But he dismissed them all as soon as Damion and Faimes had finished their tale, and none of them lingered to hear his thoughts.

Eleniel’s tread slowed to almost a trudge, though, as soon as she had left the throne room. Legolas, departed on a dangerous quest – with no chance to say her farewells. Her dearest friend gone; her assumption of his command indefinite until his return – _if_ he returned.

She did not want to think those words, but they came upon her anyway, dragging at her heels as she retired to her chambers, hoping to claim a quiet moment to think before she rose to arrange the next patrol.

It was not to be.

The king’s summons back to his side arrived only moments after she had returned to her chambers. Perhaps he had realized that Legolas’s absence left logistical complications in addition to the fear and dread that she knew they both shared. He would never speak to her of such feelings, but perhaps he meant to discuss matters of the archery unit?

But to her surprise, when she returned to his throne room, he hardly acknowledged her.

“Your Majesty?” she said hesitantly, though her instincts cried out that she should not draw his attention to her. But he was staring down at a scroll of paper with a look of puzzled affront, and her curiosity won out over self-preservation.

“Ah, Eleniel.” He waved her forward, almost distractedly. “I hoped you might help me solve a bit of a mystery.”

She frowned, but went when he beckoned. “A mystery, my lord?”

“This came for Legolas perhaps a week ago.” Thranduil held out a letter to her. “I had meant to wait, to pass it on to him when he returned, but as he – has not” – His voice tightened a bit at those words, and Eleniel could hear the unspoken _and may never_ – “I thought his correspondent at least deserved a response. But instead I find . . . this.”

Eleniel took the letter gingerly from his hands and felt her stomach drop.

_Legolas,_

_I regret that I will not be able to meet you this month. Urgent circumstances require me to travel. I will not say too much of them now, but I will write to you when you may expect me again._

_Take care of yourself, and stay safe._

_Gimli_

Eleniel read the letter twice, slower the second time, buying what time she could to respond. Gimli. She had seen the name only once before – written on the letter Legolas had handed her before his departure, begging her to post for him in Dale. His dwarf, the one he slipped away each month to meet at the full moon.

The moment had arrived, then – the one she had dreaded, though she had not imagined it might come in this way: she stood before her king with information that Legolas had asked her to keep secret, that his father had directly asked her to share. Betrayed not by a slip of her own, or even by Legolas, but by this incriminating letter that had landed directly in Thranduil’s hands – and for a time she could not speak, could only stare down at the words and wish –

She did not know precisely what, but at very least she wished Legolas were here to explain it for himself. Wished she could be certain that he would ever be here again.

Her silence stretched too long to feign confusion – long enough to make the decision for her. “Eleniel,” said the king, his voice sharp now. “What do you know about this letter?”

She hesitated for only an instant longer. After all these months of covering for Legolas’s absences, after her promise to keep his secret, it felt strange to speak up – but could he truly expect her to lie to her king’s – _his father’s_ – face? And more, could she bear to be the only keeper of this secret – or worse, if he did not come back, forced to break the news in an even more brutal way?

“Eleniel,” said Thranduil again, his voice heavy with command. “You will tell me what you know.”

 _I am sorry, my friend,_ she said silently, and took a deep breath.

“Yes, my lord,” she said. “You may wish to be seated for this . . .”


End file.
